


Unfinished Business

by sapphire_child



Category: Lost
Genre: Creepy, Dead but also here Charlie, Gen, Season/Series 04, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-07
Updated: 2008-04-07
Packaged: 2019-01-19 09:51:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphire_child/pseuds/sapphire_child
Summary: He drifts between time and space, never really knowing where he’ll be next, not understanding why he’s still here or even what he is. And then one day he opens up the newspaper and discovers to his horror that while six of his friends have been rescued, the one person he wanted to save more than anything is still lost. Written for day three oflostsquee’s season 4 hiatus challenge. Prompt used was the quote (which is in the cut).





	Unfinished Business

Charlie’s not entirely sure what he is – whether he’s a ghost, or a prophet or something else altogether. All he knows is that one moment he was on the island, drowning, and the next minute he wasn’t.

One thing’s for sure – he can’t quite seem to pin himself down to one place. Or one time for that matter. He jumps back and forth incessantly. Sometimes he’s in places he recognises, places he’s lived in or travelled to. Other times he winds up in places that he’s never even heard of before and he skulks about in the shadows until he jumps again.

Sometimes he sees himself, when the tides of time shift and roll and take him with them. He watches himself busking on the streets of London, angling for a fix in an alleyway in Los Angeles, sitting in the airport at Sydney waiting for his plane to come in…

He never tries to speak to himself, or to his family and friends. God, what would he ever say?

_Well hello there. Guess what? I’m dead but I’m kind of also here._

Yeah. That’d go over real well.

There’s a wallet in his back pocket that always seems to have money in it and his leather jacket has an inside pocket that’s just the right size for this fantastic pair of aviator sunnies he has. They’re just like the ones he used to own – the ones that Liam borrowed without asking first when they were on the bands first tour. Come to think of it, he never did get those back...

Charlie likes to sit in coffee shops with his sunglasses in his pocket, a newspaper spread out before him and a cheap Styrofoam mug filled with liquid caffeine in hand as he reads up on whatever news is current and happening. He relives a lot of old news stories but it never crosses his mind to try and change anything. Why would he?

One night he ushers in the new year – 2005 – in a bar somewhere. Judging by the accents of his fellow patrons he guesses that he’s in America but he has no idea where. On the stroke of twelve as it rains confetti into his beer he jumps forward to a familiar coffee shop somewhere in Australia (Melbourne he thinks, or was it Adelaide?) and there’s a glaring headline on the front page that makes him choke on a mouthful of beer that’s somehow turned to coffee instead. It burns all the way down his throat and tears spring into his eyes as he gasps, the headline blurring and swimming in front of him.

LOST AND FOUND: THE ONLY SIX SURVIVORS OF OCEANIC 815.

Underneath the headline is an incredibly excitable article. He’s surprised that there isn’t an exclamation point at the end of every sentence. Their names are all in the article. Hugo Reyes, Jack Shepherd, Sayid Jarrah, Sun Kwon, Kate Austen and…

The newspaper falls limply from his fingers in shock.

Aaron Austen.

There’s a photograph of them too – obviously posed and staged. He’s not quite sure how he missed it to be honest. It’s crisp and in colour and takes up half the bloody page. They all look exhausted and grim, and Kate is holding onto the infant in her arms like her life depends on it. Charlie pushes both his hands into his hair and grips it for an agonising moment before he stands.

He has to get out of here.

He nearly leaves the newspaper there but then at the last second he scrambles back to the table, tears out the picture and folds it up, cramming it deep into the inside pocket of his jacket where his sunglasses usually reside. He pushes out of the coffee shop blindly and finds himself suddenly standing on top of a rather magnificent cliff top looking down and out at a small city seemingly made out of blue glass and silver metal against a cerulean sky.

The sky reminds him of the island.

He spends the next month in a daze, moving back and forth haphazardly, not sure where he is or where he’s going. One night he meets a young girl at a bar in who takes him back to her apartment after they’ve both filled themselves up with whiskey. He fucks her hard – the way he always used to – but it’s not the same as before and it’s certainly not what he wants. He presses his face into her long blonde hair so that she can’t see him crying and afterwards he locks himself in the bathroom for close to an hour, staring at his own reflection and the salted tracks down his cheeks.

He hates what he’s just done, what he’s become in this, his so called afterlife. What the hell is wrong with him?

He answers himself all too easily however. What’s wrong is that he wants to believe that Claire is safe, that she’s on her way home on the helicopter that Desmond saw. He wants to believe that his sacrifice wasn’t in vain, that this group that are being called the “Oceanic Six” aren’t the only ones who got off the island, that Kate is only watching Aaron temporarily.

But he knows – he _knows_ that he’s wrong. Claire isn’t safe, there is no helicopter, she’s not coming home to her son...

And with these thoughts there comes a sudden revelation – _this is why I’ve come back again._

The shock makes him dizzy and he has to put his head between his knees, his bare back going cold as he stares dazedly at the bathroom floor until the world stops spinning and he finds himself instead on a park bench, his newspaper clipping tight between his fingers and his eyes raised towards the heavens in a silent plea.

_Haven’t I done enough already?_

But no, they need his help. If the world was in the right order and balance he would’ve been let go, he wouldn’t be suffering anymore. Because that’s all he ever wanted really – an end to his suffering, and some reasons to be missed by those that he left behind. If he’s ever going to rest peacefully then he’s going to have to finish in death what he started in life.

He stands abruptly, decisively, and pushes the picture deep into his breast pocket before pushing his sunglasses onto his nose. For one absurd moment he feels utterly ridiculous – like he’s playing at being a special agent or something. But then his face hardens and his jaw sets, his hands curling into fists momentarily and then releasing with a determined sigh.

He has work to do.


End file.
